After a challenging day at work, I return home, shower, and rummage through my drawers for the missing underwear that remains elusive. I also search for my pajamas to no avail. I strain to remember where I might have stashed them, but my memory offers no clues. With no other options, I dress in alternative clothing.
I lie down for a few minutes of rest but quickly succumb to a deep sleep.
Awakened by my alarm, I have breakfast, don my uniform, and head to the company. The tension hasn't lifted, and we're all burdened with numerous tasks and responsibilities that exceed our usual duties.
Our cell phones ring in unison, compelling us to check the source of the commotion. An email from the company, specifically from our superiors, sits in my inbox. I open it, full of apprehension, and read about the imminent changes.
Any vacation days accumulated over a fifteen-month period will no longer carry over. We must take our holidays, as they will cease to roll over.
Additionally, they announce a major overhaul of the company's software and a complete replacement of all computers and devices, granting us a week off.
Despite the strangeness of it all, there's a silver lining after the storm. We all need a break from the company, even if only for a few days.
The bosses and department heads will work from home. The company will furnish everything they need to perform their roles adequately.
The relief provided by this news is immeasurable, yet I feel somewhat unsettled about my plans for the days off, especially since Marina will be visiting her family, leaving me on my own.
In the small coffee room, I bump into my friend, as we both prepare coffee for our bosses. I seize the moment to discuss something profoundly personal that I’ve been contemplating.
“How’s everything going? I’m exhausted; they’ve got me running around non-stop, I can't even count how many people I'm assisting today.”
“I'm here ferrying documents, coffee, and copies. We still have a few days before the break.”
“I’d give anything to travel and relax now; I’m going crazy.”
“I need your help with something very personal when we get back.”
“Very personal? What do you mean?”
“I want to lose my virginity, so maybe you could take me to a party or something.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind helping, but take these days off to think it over, and if you're still set on it when we return, I'll assist you.”
“Thanks, really.”
“We should hurry up before we get in trouble for slacking off.”
Leaving the coffee room, I collide with someone and nearly spill the coffee.
“Sorry! I didn’t see you,” I say, without daring to look up.
“Be more careful where you walk next time,” a harsh, irritated voice responds. I recognize it from the announcements, I'm certain of it.
I rush off, delivering the coffee with my heart racing, fearful of potential dismissal.
We work late into the night, sorting files, copying, and delivering reports. The office feels like a hellish battleground marked by fear and fatigue in every worker.
Each day ends with me leaving work exhausted, heading home with a single desire - to eat a sandwich and collapse into bed. My heels are killing me, and I'm sure they've left blisters from running around all day.
Upon reaching my apartment, a white rose lies on the doormat. I pick it up, looking for a card, but find none. Convinced it wasn't intended for me, I keep the flower nonetheless, given its lack of a clear recipient.
Tomorrow promises another grueling day, and the last thing I need is to fuss over a misdelivered flower.
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